


Miss Holmes

by daughterofdurinanddestiel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry John, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF John, Big Brother Mycroft, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Sex, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, May/December Relationship, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, More tags to be added, Moriarty Is A Dick, Moriarty Made Them Do It, Moriarty is Alive, Moriarty's Web, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft To The Rescue, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Passion, Past Relationship(s), Pining Greg, Poor John, Possessive Sherlock, Post-Canon, Protective Greg, Protective Mycroft, Protective Siblings, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Season/Series 04, Sebastian Angst, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in a Car, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Teenagers, past Mystrade, rated M for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 16:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5255720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughterofdurinanddestiel/pseuds/daughterofdurinanddestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't be absurd, I am not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion. You know what happened to the other one."--Mycroft Holmes, S3E3.</p><p>Conan Doyle wrote that there was a third Holmes sibling. What if that sibling had been injured because of Mycroft and Sherlock caring about them too much? What if that sibling was now the head of international crime at the American CIA? What if that sibling was a young woman (not a brother), and has been assigned to go back to England and help Sherlock and Co defeat Moriarty?<br/>What if that sibling has been madly in love with a certain inspector since she was a child?</p><p>Meet Daniela Holmes, twenty-five, pretty, and just as smart as Sherlock but with far more impulse control. See how she helps our heroes in taking down not just Moriarty, but the most dangerous part of his web.</p><p>(Eventual smut, Johnlock, and angst up the yingyang!)</p><p>(Each chapter will be titled as a song lyric/title.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dance Little Sister

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! I am starting a new long fic, basically of what season four would be like if the third Holmes sibling showed up and was a woman.  
> Expect Johnlock, mentions of past Mystrade, smut, murder, tears, and angst.
> 
> I write slowly, so let's see if I can finish this before season four actually comes out! ;)

2003

 

“Oh, come now, Sherlock: please let me come with!”

Sherlock Holmes, already a great consulting detective at only twenty-seven-years-old, sighed as he blew smoke from his mouth, cigarette dangling. He now realized what his brother Mycroft must have dealt with when he was a child. Sherlock stared down his much younger sister, Daniela, as she bounced on one foot and then the other in excitement.

“Mummy said you weren’t allowed to come to murder scenes, remember?” he said to her. For being thirteen-years-old, she was a remarkably bright child. Just like he and Mycroft had been at her age. It was fascinating, relieving (he’d hate to have an idiot for a sibling), and a bit tiring. She was persistent.

“But Sherlock! Those are the really interesting ones! Please, I promise I will be good, and I won’t get sick looking at dead bodies. Promise.” She placed her hand over her heart. She’d come straight to St. Bart’s, where Sherlock used the lab, from school, so she resembled a Girl Scout in her green plaid uniform and hand over her heart like that.

Sherlock sighed. Both of the Holmes brothers were suckers for Daniela’s persuasion. While both of them considered themselves uncaring, they made an exception for their baby sister. She had been a surprise late pregnancy for their parents, and they all doted on her.

“Come, then. You’re probably cleverer than the inspectors at Scotland Yard all put together.” Sherlock hailed a cab outside of St. Bart’s and went to the address that his inside man at NSY had given him.

Sherlock Holmes had met the new inspector, Something Lestrade, recently when a case he was working on happened to cross into something that Scotland Yard was investigating. He had been allowed to assist Lestrade’s team in solving the double murder and had since been to various crime scenes. Lestrade worked Homicide but had recommended Sherlock’s services to other divisions when they were stuck on difficult cases.

In truth, Lestrade was not supposed to be letting a civilian onto crime scenes, so everything had to be done very discreetly. Having a teenage girl hanging about, doing better work than the NSY employees, could be too conspicuous.

Sherlock did not care. He liked teaching his sister about criminal prosecution. He had a faint hope that she would follow in his footsteps one day.

The alighted the taxi and Sherlock said, “Stay close. Don’t want to get us both banned, eh?”

Daniela nodded, her face bright with excitement.

“Mr. Holmes.”

Ah, there was that damned Lestrade. Already looking flustered and now a bit annoyed.

“I thought there was an agreement about children not being present at bloody murder scenes?” he asked, looking down at Daniela.

“Quit worrying. Daniela is more competent than half of those bozos you’ve got over there,” Sherlock condescended. “A little blood won’t be an issue. It was just Mummy who was concerned.”

Sherlock glanced down at his sister, who was giving her best impression of him: head high, eyes bright, and a look of pure determination and indifference on her face that no girl her age should have been able to manage.

Lestrade sighed. “All right. Come on, then. This one was tricky at the start, so I knew it was best to call you in now.”

Sherlock bent down by the body after taking in the scene around it and made no attempt to shield Daniela from seeing the multiple gunshot wounds afflicted to the corpse.

Daniela stood back after taking a glance at the body and looked about. Sherlock kept one eye on her and one roaming over the body. Suddenly, she was at his side.

“Sherlock, there’s a man with an awful toupee at one o’clock. He’s got scrapes on what would otherwise be brand-new shoes. As if he were recently in a scuffle.”

Sherlock looked at the man in question, and his analytical brain connected the dots that Daniela’s immature brain had left. Yes, the girl was certainly a prodigy! He stood up quick as a whip and began to make his way towards the man when his sister tugged on his coat.

“What are you doing? Don’t you think you’d better tell Inspector Lestrade instead of going after the man yourself?” she hissed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Children! He simply strode ahead and singled out the offender, who, predictably, bolted. Sherlock ran after him, followed closely by the inspector, who took a moment to tell the youngest Holmes to stay where she was, with the other bobbies.

Sherlock was running, certain he was going to catch up with the murderer (this was a dispute over money, obviously, and the wealthy were rarely in such good shape) when he made a sudden turn down a deserted street and Sherlock followed, finding himself coming face-to-barrel with the murder weapon.

He put his hands up (he had not yet acquired his own gun at that point) and heard Lestrade come after him, pulling his gun and aiming at the murderer.

“Scotland Yard! Drop it, mate, or you’ll be joining your friend back there,” Lestrade threatened. Sherlock rolled his eyes again. How predictable and melodramatic.

He stepped a bit backwards, hands still raised, and began to do what he did best: deduce. “You loaned your friend a considerable sum of money, and he refused to pay you back, though his newest business venture had done quite well, purely thanks to the loan you had given him. So in a very idiotic and predictable manner, you murdered him and then hung around the scene of the crime so that, perhaps, you would not be incriminated.

“I bet you didn’t know that a child found you out, all because of your overpriced footwear.”

The murderer’s eyes widened and his face flamed. He cocked the gun and said, “You think you’re some big shot? I’ve seen your website, Holmes. And I think it’s high time that your big mouth was permanently shut!”

At that moment, there came a shout of, “Leave my brother alone you bastard!” Daniela had come after them, panting at the exertion of running. She dashed and shoved her brother aside, just as the madman fired the gun. Sherlock heard Lestrade fire his weapon, and he also heard him yell for the girl to get out of the way. Sherlock hit the ground, the murderer also hit the ground, shot dead by Lestrade. But what terrified Sherlock, was that his sister also landed on the wet, cold pavement, blood leaking from her abdomen.

 


	2. Mama I'm Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniela Holmes, international intelligence director of the CIA, gets called back to London by her brother Mycroft to help Sherlock and the gang fight the threat that is Jim Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, that was a quick update! Getting to the present, I hope to get POVs from Daniela, Sherlock, John, and Greg as the story goes on. I know it started slow, but the mystery begins here, a bit.  
> Enjoy!

2015

 

Daniela Holmes was at her desk at the CIA, monitoring various CCTV cameras and ignoring the paperwork on her desk. There were precious few people who were ahead of her at the CIA, despite her young age, but when they needed her, they grumbled like crazy. She was twenty-five and British: they hated the fact that she was such an important part of the organization. So, they made her wait for all of her missions.

Finally, she was summoned to her superior’s office, and she had to admit that the man looked terrible. There was something bad going on, that was for sure.

“Sir?” she asked, feigning respect for his authority.

“Miss Holmes, please come round to this side of the desk to attend this video conference,” her boss said. “I’d have had you do it from your office, but the fewer computers engaged the better.”

She nodded and walked around, completely surprised to see her eldest brother’s face on the screen. Mycroft was not an easily shaken man, and he looked terrible as well.

“Mycroft. You look positively ghastly. What happened?” Daniela asked, worried. When Mycroft was nervous, it was time to start panicking.

“Daniela. I appreciate the compliment on my appearance,” he sneered. “We have a very big problem. You received my reports on one Professor James Moriarty two years ago, did you not?”

Daniela nodded. She had helped Sherlock go around the world, fighting Moriarty’s terrorist web after he had faked his suicide.

“He’s not dead.”

Leave it to her brother to say something so alarming in such a calm tone. Daniela felt her knees go weak. Of all the things she had expected to hear, this was not one of them.

“Myc, are you sure? How silly--of course you’re sure. What do you need me to do?” she asked, already collected from her brief period of shock.

“Come here. Immediately. The CIA is more entangled in this than I had realized. One of your ex-operatives is believed to be a part of Moriarty’s web.” He held up a photograph. “Do you recognize this person?”

Daniela nodded tentatively, searching her mind palace for the proper memory. “Yes, but we only met briefly.”

Her boss knew the pictured personage much better. He had hired them years ago, and he had also fired them, not long after Daniela had begun her internship with the CIA when she was sixteen. “If I had one word of description, or two rather, I’d say ‘cold’ and ‘killer’. If that is whom this Moriarty fellow is working with, you are in for quite a bit of trouble.”

Mycroft nodded. “I realized that already, Director,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Daniela, you need to come quickly. There is no time to lose. He has already made another veiled threat towards Sherlock, and his operative is also getting closer by the second. I have dispatched my private jet and it will be ready to pick you up at Norfolk in six hours. Be there; urgency is imperative.”

“You know I won’t let you down, brother mine,” she said, doing that old hand over her heart gesture she used to do as a child.

Daniela went home to pack some things. She was unsure of how long it would take to apprehend Moriarty and his affiliate, but she knew it was best to be prepared. Moriarty was not a foe who could be taken down lightly...especially considering even suicide hadn’t been enough to finish him.

Mycroft’s sleek black jet looked like a flying version of the cars he rode around London in, Daniela thought as she boarded the plane. She had her laptop to do some work and research, and also her iPod. Like her brother Sherlock, she found herself relaxed and her thinking made easier when there was music. She couldn’t play the violin like he could, but she was able to appreciate raw talent, be it Bach or Sebastian Bach.

An hour or so into the flight, she found herself thinking about the last time she had been in London when she had got shot while trying to protect Sherlock. She should not have been at that crime scene. Mummy had forbidden it, and Lestrade’s chief had also expressed his concerns.

Daniela liked crime. Like her brothers, she got a high out of keeping people safe and solving complicated riddles. However, that was not the only reason she had pressured Sherlock to take her to that particular crime scene. She could have waited till he got a good missing person’s case or a stolen precious gem. At thirteen, she expressed one sole interest that made her different from her brothers: she felt love. And having happened upon Inspector Gregory Lestrade sitting in Sherlock’s flat one day when she stopped by after school had triggered something inside of her that she had never realized was there. That was when she had become more insistent on going to murder scenes because that was Lestrade’s division.

Getting shot in front of him, well, that had not been in the plan, especially since he had tried to tell her to stay where she was in the first place.

After she was released from hospital, her family had decided to utilize one of Mycroft’s colleagues’ offer and send her to an exclusive school in America so she could be properly trained in security and crime fighting, since that was her chief interest in life. They also sent her there to keep her safe from her brothers. They had a tendency to attract trouble. Still did, it seemed.

Mycroft was a one-email-per-month type of brother, but Sherlock was always writing, texting, and calling her. She followed his life as he got clean, solved more crimes, and earned a name for himself as a minor legend in London.

She never pressured him for information on Lestrade because she knew he’d seen right through her. So instead she took in every detail he said on his own. Occasionally, there were photographs taken at crime scenes, many of which were funny. It was a crush that happened to stand the test of time.

Until 2010, when he had told her he was getting a flatmate.

She had burst out laughing. “Who the Hell would want to live with _you_? No offence but neither you nor I seem to be flatmate material.” Despite living in America for seven years, she still spoke like a posh Londoner, another thing that annoyed people about her.

“No offence taken,” her brother had replied. “He’s an old schoolmate of Mike Stamford, the man who lets me use the lab at St. Bart’s. He’s an ex-Army Captain and doctor, recently home from Afghanistan with a severe case of PTSD and a psychosomatic limp. I intend to rid him of that before long. Name’s John Watson.”

Daniela was as perceptive of her brother as she was of anyone else, possibly more so because she was so close to Sherlock. She knew what that flow of unnecessary information meant. “What’s he like? Does he seem nice? Clever?”

Sherlock hesitated. “I believe he will be a perfectly adequate flatmate.”

Most people thought Sherlock was asexual, but Daniela had long known that both of her brothers were gay. It didn’t bother her. Mycroft had had a string of lovers and that was no secret. Sherlock, however, had yet to find anyone who could break that platinum barrier he had built up around his heart. She had a funny feeling that John Watson had done what dozens of other men could never dream of doing: he had broken at least one of Sherlock’s barriers.

“When do you move in?” she had asked him.

“Tomorrow. You remember Mrs. Hudson?”

Daniela laughed. “Of course! I helped you make sure her husband was executed down in Florida. Crazy bastard that he was.”

“It’s her building. Nice enough place. The address is 221b Baker Street.”

“Noted. Will Dr. Watson be joining you in your work?” she wondered.

“Why would he do that?” Sherlock asked, but she could hear the nervousness in his voice. His masks were of no use with Daniela.

She smirked. “No reason. I’ve got to run. See you, Sher.”

In the year that led up to Sherlock’s feigned suicide, she received many texts and calls pertaining to Sherlock’s Army doctor. Each day it seemed that the two men became closer and closer, and Sherlock became happier and happier.

And then that damned Moriarty had to come and muck it all up before those two finally recognized how they felt about each other. And by the time Sherlock had come back from his mission around the world, John had become engaged to Mary Morstan. And it was just too late.

That was why she wanted to get Moriarty so badly: he had ruined her brother’s one chance at happiness.

She arrived in London at three in the morning, after having slept only two hours. She was greeted by Mycroft and his assistant, Anthea. The thoughts flooded her brain without even trying: _She’s still trying to get in Mycroft’s pants. Poor idiot. Too many Botox injections last time. I don’t think she can look angry for at least another week.  Mycroft lost weight last year, but he gained it back again. Also, his hair thinned more. Must have left whatever lover he had been boasting about last year. Severely worried as well. For Sherlock? Probably. For the safety of England? Definitely._

“Hello, little sister. You’re looking well,” Mycroft said.

“Thank you. As are you. Hello, Anthea. New doctor giving you that freakishly wrinkle-free visage?” she asked. Sometimes she had much more self-control as Sherlock. Sometimes, not so much.

Mycroft smothered a laugh as Anthea huffed. They all went into the sleek black Rolls Royce and he handed her multiple files to look over. One of them contained a file on who would be running this investigation against Moriarty.

Of course, Mycroft was listed as the head. That was a given. What surprised her first was that she was listed right under him.

“Are you sure this isn’t a typo?” she asked.

“Of course not. You are the best international affairs agent that the CIA has ever had. I didn’t send for you because we’re related: I sent for you because you’re the best I could ask for.”

Daniela smiled. Praise from him was high praise indeed. “I’m going to do my best not to fuck up the confidence you have in me.”

She continued reading the list. Of course, Sherlock was on it. Molly Hooper, someone she had known a lot about from Sherlock was also listed. Mrs. Hudson was listed as a confidant. John Watson was listed as “tactical only”. That meant that he would not be privileged to certain information. She understood that. The final name surprised her.

“Greg Lestrade? You’re trusting a Yard DI with this whole situation?”

Mycroft just looked at her. “He’s better than half of my staff put together. In fact, it is you who will be going to deal with him first thing in the morning. I didn’t tell him much, but he knows that there is a CIA affiliate coming to speak with him. Disclosing any other confidences over the phone would not be wise; there are ears everywhere.”

“You should know, Mr. CCTV,” she commented. She tried to ignore her rapidly beating heart. It was silly, harbouring a crush for all these years on a man old enough to be her father. This was big: bigger than her infatuation. She needed to get her head out of the clouds and into Special Agent mode. That was the only way they were going to get this done.

 

****

 

The next morning, she pushed aside her jet lag and stood in front of her three-way mirror in her room at the Savoy. She had tried on three outfits already and was beginning to feel quite silly. This was business, nothing more. Besides, what interest could he possibly ever have in her?

She finally settled on her favourite black pantsuit and her black leather jacket before taking the car that Mycroft had lent her and driving to New Scotland Yard.

Entering the drab building, she went to find Lestrade’s office when she was stopped by a tall, pretty woman with a mop of curly hair. Sally Donovan. Sherlock had told Daniela all about her, and her verbal abuse of him. Encountering her was not a pleasant thing first thing in the morning.

Protective little sister mode activated.

“Excuse me, and just where do you think you’re going?” Donovan asked. Daniela was used to that attitude from people who didn’t know her station. She was young, young enough to still be considered trouble.

“To my appointment, Inspector Donovan. Now, why don’t you run along and go and serve Anderson his psych medication so he can be in touch with reality while you suck him off, and leave me to do my business, hm? Or would you rather I stand here and tell the whole office how you got to your current position in life by being quite excellent on your knees?”

Donovan gaped at her, but no words escaped for a moment. “Who the Hell are you?” she asked, looking a bit apprehensive.

Daniela flashed her badge. “Special Agent Daniela Holmes, CIA. I have a meeting with DI Lestrade, and you are making me frightfully late for it. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. Ta!” Daniela pushed past the stunned inspector and approached Lestrade’s office. Taking a calming breath, she knocked.

“Come on in,” he called, sounding distracted.

Daniela opened the door, looking down at the man she had inadvertently fallen for as a girl. He was still well-built and handsome. His biggest change was the silver in his hair, taking the place of the natural black he had had twelve years ago.

 _I suppose working with Sherlock would give a bloke some grey hair_ , she thought, taking in other things. She had remembered him being married back then, but the wedding ring was now gone.

_Still a bit lighter where the ring used to be. Marriage must have ended recently, within a year or two. Looks a bit depressed. That’s to be expected. Clothes are well worn. A DI’s salary combined with spousal and possible child support must not allow for frequent trips to Savile Row for new clothes._

“Hello, Detective Inspector,” she said, her cool composure never slipping.

“Hello… Do I know you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this chapter! Next chapter gets into pre-Johnlock and Greg's newfound desires.


	3. "Daniela, it’s your brother calling. Time to go up north and see mother"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniela and Greg see each other for the first time in over a decade, and she then meets all of Sherlock's friends.  
> Plans against Moriarty are made, and tension grows between a few characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I had plot holes to fix in my head before going forward. Enjoy!

Moriarty was alive. Greg was not surprised. In his line of work, he had witnessed many evil men who never died young and in pain. He could recall a serial rapist dying peacefully in his sleep during trial once. The fact that a mass murdering psychopath like Moriarty had survived a gun to the mouth came as no big shock to him.

He had been in a pub when he saw the broadcast come on the telly. Gave him a right shock and he had not slept for two days since he saw it. He felt better when Mycroft had text him the previous night, telling him a CIA liaison was coming this morning to speak with him about the case, and also provide some protection (Moriarty had threatened to kill him two years ago).

He’d been expecting them to show up, but when he had seen who was knocking on his door, he was certain that this was no CIA agent. She was in her early twenties and beautiful. If anything, she was an assassin working with the enemy. After he took in her considerable beauty, he took a closer look.

“Do I know you?” he asked. She looked familiar: fair-skinned, lanky, with wavy dark brown hair that stopped above her shoulders and light blue eyes. He knew he’d seen her somewhere before, but how could he have forgotten such an attractive girl?

She smiled, looking sexy yet somehow deadly. He got the feeling he did around the Holmes brothers, that she could read his every thought and desire.

“I shouldn’t have expected you to recognize me. After all, the last time we saw each other I was being carted away in an ambulance at thirteen. I like to think that twelve years have changed me greatly...though you still look the same as you always did. Minus the silver, of course.” She paused. “But I do like it. It suits you.”

No. It couldn’t be. “Daniela Holmes? Is that really you?” Greg stood up and walked around to the other side of his desk. “I never forgave myself for that day. And after you were taken away, your brother never mentioned you again. I had always been too afraid to ask, but I assumed you had died. I blamed myself for not watching you.”

Her smile turned indulgent. “Please. I’m a Holmes. We are not so easy to get rid of. I do apologise that my injury caused you any turmoil.”

Greg wasn’t sure what to do. What was it about the Holmeses that made them so beautiful and alluring? Gingerly, he put a hand on her shoulder, wondering if she minded being touched.

“You don’t know how relieved I am seeing you here. ...Wait, you can’t be the CIA agent Mycroft sent?” He should have been used to being bewildered by this family by now, but they never failed to surprise him.

Sherlock surprised him constantly, but never more so than when they’d first met and he’d told Greg that he (Greg) was bisexual.

Mycroft had surprised Greg by going down on him in the back of his Jaguar one evening after Sherlock had faked his death.

And now Daniela, whose very existence was a shock. What other surprises would she be holding for him now that she was back in London?

“I am. Second in command in international affairs. Due to take over in the next five years. Moriarty’s web stretches far, as you know. My organisation just found out a former member was involved, so that is why I am here,” she said.

“Sit down, please. Can we talk about this here?” Greg asked.

Daniela didn’t sit. Instead she took some papers from the inside pocket of her jacket. “There isn’t much that can be said outside of certain places Mycroft’s men have deemed safe. I can say that I knew you were on Moriarty’s hitlist two years ago. You’re going to be under a protective watch until he is captured or confirmed dead.”

“Yeah, Myc mentioned something about your being a protective detail,” Greg said. He had dreaded being followed by a government hack, but now he might not mind. Daniela was quite pleasing to the eye, and she didn’t seem to have Sherlock’s lack of impulse control.

He saw Daniela’s eyes widen. “He said I would be your PD?”

“Well, not you specifically, because he hadn’t mentioned you, but yes.”

Daniela leaned her head back and groaned in frustration. “Sherlock. He noticed after all. Damn him!”

“Uh, excuse me, but what are you talking about?” he asked.

She shook her head as if to clear it. “Nothing. Be at Baker Street as soon as your shift ends.” She tapped the table and her smile was back, more genuine than it had been a few minutes before. “It was great seeing you again, Inspector, and on much better circumstances than when we parted.”

He reached out and shook her hand. “A pleasure, my dear. And it’s Greg. Do I call you miss? Agent? Special agent?”

“Daniela is fine in private. Agent in public. You never know who is listening besides Mycroft!” She laughed, and Greg thought that it was the loveliest sound he had ever heard. He watched her walk out of the office, and barely had time to watch her plush arse as Donovan bustled into his office the second she was gone.

“Sally?”

“Who is she, and please tell me I’ll never have to see her again,” Sally said.

Greg was still in a bit of a haze. “She’s CIA. I’ve got an exclusive case. Oh, and I wouldn’t get on her bad side. She’s got all the brains of her brother and something tells me even less of his self-control if you piss her off.”

 

****

 

Seeing Lestrade again had been a wonderful thrill, igniting something in her she had nearly forgotten about. It was nice to have that little bit of warmth in the back of her heart as her mind was focused on more pressing tasks.

She was on her way to see Sherlock when Mycroft text her. “You should know that Sherlock had a very recent relapse. Do be aware around him and make sure he is well. I will be there shortly.”

Daniela wanted to punch something...or to be more specific, she wanted to punch Mycroft. How could he tell her something so important so casually? She was fuming as her cab took her to 221b Baker Street, a quaint flat next to a place called Speedy’s. It was nice, seeing as how it was once blown in by Moriarty’s men.

She rang the bell and the door was answered by a sweet old lady.

“Mrs. Hudson, hello. We never met, but I’m Sherlock’s sister. I ah, I worked with Florida authorities when your husband was on death row,” Daniela said.

“Oh, my dear, of course I know who you are! My, you’re quite young. How old were you when all of that happened?” Mrs. Hudson asked, stepping aside and letting her through.

“Seventeen,” Daniela replied. “I’ll be in London for an indefinite amount of time, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

Mrs. Hudson directed her to Sherlock’s flat and tutted about, talking about making tea. Daniela smiled. She was as eccentric as Sherlock had said. Daniela knocked on Sherlock’s door, hoping that Mycroft had told him of her arrival and he would be sober. It had broken her heart when Sherlock had been so high those years ago. Greg had helped him get clean (twice) and she had assumed John Watson had also been a good influence on Sherlock. Between John’s marriage and Moriarty, it was no wonder he had relapsed. There was only so much emotion a man like him could handle.

Sherlock opened the door and Daniela was relieved to see that he was itching for a fix, but he was sober. It had been two days since his relapse, and it seemed that the one relapse had been all he had taken.

“Daniela.” A smile spread across Sherlock’s aquiline features and he opened the door wide. “I thought that was your voice. Mycroft called you here to help deal with Moriarty, obviously.” She entered the warm, slightly messy flat and took her jacket off.

“Yes. What has he told you about the tactics we will be using against Moriarty?” she asked.

“Very little. He said he was calling a meeting here tonight.”

Daniela went to sit down on an armchair with a Union Jack pillow when Sherlock abruptly stopped her, surprising her.

“Not that chair,” he said. “Anywhere else.”

_ That’s John’s chair. He has been married for eight months and has not lived here for longer, but this is still his chair to Sherlock, and he won’t let anyone sit there but John _ , Daniela realised. _I hope one day I have someone get that emotional over me._

“Sorry, brother,” she said. “So, you’re not looking for a new flatmate?”

Sherlock scoffed, hiding his emotions like a true Holmes. “I have more than enough cash flow from cases to afford it here without interviewing another potential flatmate. Why? Thinking about applying?” he sneered.

“Christ no. We’d kill each other before a week was over!” She laughed. Inside, she was concerned that her brother could not get over John Watson. Then again, she had been mooning over a DI who was twice her age, so she supposed long-standing unrequited loves were yet another trait she shared with her brother. Sherlock could never have anyone live with him again without missing John even more.

Daniela and Sherlock spoke animatedly about Sherlock’s work until there was another knock on the door.

“That is Molly,” Sherlock said.

“Recognised her tread?” Daniela asked as he got up to answer the door.

“Of course. She wears the same shoes every time I have seen her except once, at a Christmas party John and I hosted.”

Daniela giggled. She remembered the account Sherlock had given of that disastrous night. She wished she had been there to see it herself.

Sherlock let in a petite, slightly mousy looking woman about ten years older than Daniela was. Her skin was fair, and her light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail. She still smelled of her work in the morgue, ammonia and formaldehyde, and looked very worried. She was obviously madly in love with Sherlock as well.

Daniela stood up and briskly shook Molly’s hand. “Yes, I am his sister. Yes, I realise that he has never mentioned me. I’m well aware of what’s happening with Moriarty and I have been assured you are trustworthy and much more intellectual and shrewd than you would have people think. I can see you’ll be quite the ally to us.”

She sat back down and Molly sat next to her on the sofa. “Wow, you really are his sister! You’re so much alike.”

A few minutes later Mycroft entered the room, ushered in by Mrs. Hudson, who was also bringing a tray of tea. The Holmes boys regarded each other warily, but Daniela saw how worried Mycroft was about Sherlock. It was sweet. Very few people could see beneath the shields the boys put up, but Daniela was no fool like others were. They’d do anything for each other, and for her as well.

There was a final knock on the door and Greg walked in, looking harried and handsome as Hell. Daniela said a greeting and he greeted everyone else in the room. Sherlock and Daniela locked eyes, thinking the same thing: _how boring and redundant_. Mycroft perched himself on the arm of the couch, and Greg sat next to Daniela, close enough where she could feel his hot skin through their pants.

She noticed everyone was avoiding sitting in John’s chair.

“Are we all caught up in what happened two days ago?” Mycroft asked. Everyone nodded. “Good. Then, we should begin as soon as possible.”

Sherlock held up a hand to stop him. “Shouldn’t we wait for John?”

“No,” Daniela spoke up. “John is a bigger target than any of us. It is best to keep him out of the main conversation as long as possible. If he is captured, the less he knows the better it is for him.”

Sherlock mused about that for a moment, trying to find a flaw in Daniela’s improvised lie and he could not. He simply nodded and let Mycroft proceed. Daniela was relieved. Lying was also a family trait.

“Moriarty’s web was broken up between 2012 and 2014. At least, that’s what MI:5, MI:6, and the CIA all believed. However, I have recently discovered that Moriarty still has one ace up his sleeve, and sleeping dog he is getting ready to wake.”

Daniela spoke up. “He already woke her once. Luckily, or unluckily, danger was averted. We have good reason to believe an attack on Sherlock is coming within the next two months. Moriarty wanted to scare us, and England. We have no idea what he is planning, but I have been thinking since Mycroft sent me the files: whatever he does is going to be a cover so Sherlock can be killed and we will all be too busy elsewhere.

“Moriarty is working with the daughter of one Sebastian Moran.” Daniela sent a photo of the deceased Moran to everyone’s phones so they could see who she was talking about. Moran was a CIA sniper who became a freelance mercenary here in the UK. We believe he became acquainted with Moriarty when his daughter went to school with him.

“You’re all aware of the Carl Powers case?” Everyone nodded. “Sherlock was eight. Moriarty was eleven. This has been going on for decades, and it is reaching its culmination. We need to stop that happening. Mycroft has devised a plan that we hope will succeed. Myc?”

Mycroft grimaced at his shortened name and said, “Sherlock, you and Molly will deal with Moriarty. You will look for crimes that fit his modus operandi and keep track of them. Under no circumstances are you to approach Moriarty if you see him… Do you hear me, brother mine?”

Mycroft leveled a look laced with warning at the middle Holmes child, and Sherlock responded with an eye roll.

“Tell me, Mycroft, how big does your head get when you’re in charge like this?” Sherlock asked.

He turned his back on Sherlock, looking at Greg. “Gregory, your job is to monitor Major Crimes Division. I have already arranged your temporary move to that department. Daniela is your protective detail, so as soon as you find something, she will know about it.”

“And what are you going to do, brother dear?” Sherlock asked sarcastically.

Mycroft did not respond directly. “Daniela and I will be tailing the woman we believe is Moran’s daughter. Daniela has already given visual confirmation, but we need to be sure she is working with Moriarty before we make any moves.”

“She also might lead us to the professor,” Daniela added. “We can’t rule that out, although such good fortune is rarely seen in our profession.”

Greg scoffed. “That’s true. The most good fortune I’ve had at work is meeting Sherlock.”

“And why aren’t you giving us any more information on Moran’s daughter?” Molly asked. “What if we encounter her?”

“Then I will know and alert you. Until then, it is best to keep your focus on Moriarty, and let Daniela and I worry about Moran.” Mycroft’s tone brooked no argument from Molly, but Sherlock’s analytical mind was trying to deduce why Mycroft and Daniela were keeping a secret like Moran’s identity.

“Dani,” he said, using the name he hadn’t since she was a child, “why are you keeping me out of this?”

“It’s not for you,” Daniela replied. “It’s for John. And Molly. And Greg. Jim Moriarty is the trigger, and Moran is the gun. Mycroft and I are not on that hit list, though Mycroft may be now for all we know. We don’t want anyone on the list getting close to Moran. She is deadly, more deadly than even her father was, and that’s saying quite a bit.”

Sherlock sighed. “Fine. For John.”

As if that was a premonition, a key turned in the lock and in walked a man Daniela knew to be Dr. John Watson, followed by a very pregnant Mary Moran-Watson. Daniela's mind took everything in. _The room was filled with people John knew, and one woman he did not, yet his eyes went to Sherlock first, taking in everyone else second. He still had a key to his old apartment, despite being married and moved out. He still walked in like he lived there, with Sherlock. There was pleasure in his eyes, as well as nostalgia. He missed it here. He missed his chair, he missed Mrs. Hudson’s tea, and most of all he missed living with Sherlock Holmes._

Daniela had wondered if John felt the same way about her brother as Sherlock did about John, and she was convinced that he did. The love between them was so obvious she wanted to stand up and shake them both till they opened their eyes and smelt the coffee.

“Hello,” John said, seemingly to the room at large, but mostly towards Sherlock. It was then he noticed Daniela. “Hi. I’m afraid I don’t know you.”

Daniela stood and held out her hand to shake. She hated shaking hands, but this was the man her brother loved. She wanted to run around and hug him if she could.

“I’m Daniela. Here to help with the whole Moriarty debacle,” she said.

“And how are you related to the case?” John asked. “I’m John Watson, Sherlock’s friend.”

“I know who you are. And I’m not related to the _case_ , per se. I’m related to Sherlock...and Mycroft, but I assume that was a given. I’m their sister. CIA.” She gestured to the men, watching John’s shock register on his careworn face.

“What the? How-- _Sherlock_! I have known you for how many years now and I never knew you had a bloody sister? Yet you knew about mine after five minutes with me!” John cried. “You know what, I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.”

“It was not necessary information,” Sherlock said with a shrug.

Daniela laughed. She wanted so badly to start deducing them both, revealing their emotions to the entire room. The unresolved romantic and sexual tension between them was maddening. She couldn’t be the only one that noticed it, could she?

“Not _necessary_? God, why am I friends with you again?” John asked.

Sherlock smirked. “Because you can’t help it.”

Greg chuckled in his seat. “John, to be fair, they let me think she was dead since she was thirteen.”

“This whole family is insane...no offence, Daniela.”

Daniela waved John’s comment away. “Please. It would take a lot more than that to offend me. Anyway, Sherlock told me so much about you, I expected even more of an emotional display. I can see you’ve gotten quite used to him, so I suppose you’re numb to his ‘surprises’.”

John looked between her and Sherlock. “You can do what they do? The deduction stuff?”

“Indeed I can, and better.” Daniela winked. “And who is this, who has been standing there silently laughing at all of this since you walked in?”

Mary stepped forward and introduced herself, still giggling. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed.”

John went and sat in his chair and Mary perched in his lap. “So, Sherlock, you been okay?” John asked, looking across the room to his friend. Daniela read a deeper concern in his eyes than his voice betrayed. She hoped Sherlock saw it as well.

The detective huffed. “Yes, John. I am fine. No need to worry about me.” Sherlock quickly turned the conversation away from his health and back to Moriarty. Mycroft gave a very abridged version of their plans, leaving out Sebastian Moran and his daughter completely. Daniela did not like subterfuge, despite being a CIA agent, but she reminded herself that this was for the safety of Sherlock’s beloved, and for John’s unborn child.

She stood and said, “Greg, allow me to see you home. We have early days tomorrow, and I need to make some calls to America as well.”

“Yeah, sure.” He stood as well and looked towards Sherlock. “Don’t worry, mate. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

“No. We won’t,” Mary agreed warmly. “I know John wouldn’t bear it.” She winked.

Daniela and Greg walked to his car and he offered to see her to her hotel.

“Not unless you plan on staying over,” Daniela said. She noticed he blushed at that. “I need to have you home, and to check the place over. Make sure there are no bugs, bombs, or anything else. It’s no trouble for me to take a cab to my hotel.”

“All right, then. Do you mind music?” Greg asked, hand touching the radio dial. She could smell his cologne in the close confines of the car, and he was so close. It wasn’t fair. She hated being this distracted.

“Not at all. Play any American hip hop and I jump out of your moving car,” she warned.

He laughed. “Not a chance.”

They rode in comfortable silence to his modest flat in central London, listening to The Offspring, The Clash, and Green Day. Daniela approved of his musical tastes, but wondered if some Cure or Siouxsie Sioux was too far into the “goth” zone for him.

Daniela took out her gun, noticing Greg was surprised she even had one, before going in to check the flat. It was small, cosy, and a little messy. Not dirty, and there was nothing like a typical bachelor flat in there except some football and rugby memorabilia.

“Arsenal fan?” she said. “I always root for Galaxy. I think I’m a sucker for punishment.”

She looked over the place, feeling just a bit intrusive when she went into his bedroom and had to nose through his things. “Sorry about this. SOP, you know?”

He waved a hand, leaning sexily against the doorframe. “I’ve nothing to hide.”

The place was clean, and the only surveillance was Mycroft’s outside the building. Daniela went to leave and Greg offered for her to stay for dinner.

“I wish I could. Work. Rain check?” she said.

“Sure, after all, we’ll be seeing plenty of each other, right?” Greg’s smile was infectious.

“Right. Good night, Greg.”

“Night, Dani.”

Daniela caught a cab on the street and sighed. “Caring is decidedly _not_ an advantage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up...
> 
> Johnlock is discussed. Sebastian Moran's history is revealed. Greg reminisces about Mycroft.


	4. Sister Christian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock bemoans his fate that he never had the chance to tell John how much he loves him.
> 
> Greg reminisces about his past relationship with the eldest Holmes sibling.
> 
> Daniela gives advice, is wank fodder, and muses about Sebastian Moran's daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is Mystrade smut!
> 
> Seriously, this is Sherlock and feelings, Greg and sex, and Daniela trying to be a good sister and special agent, all at once. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes got jealous over very few things. Usually, it was people who were smarter than he. Thankfully, the only people he had ever had who were truly intellectual rivals were related to him or Moriarty. Never had he had to be competitive with anyone but Mycroft.

Sherlock had not known how jealous he could become till John Watson started dating a woman named Sarah. It was the automatic assertion of “he’s mine” that ran through Sherlock’s mind when Sarah held John by the arm, or kissed him, or even looked at him across the room. It was possessive, primal, and came from somewhere deep inside the detective that he had had no idea existed.

He was in love with John Watson. He wanted him, he craved him, and he needed him. However, he could not have him. Unlike when he met Lestrade, just blurting out to John that John was bisexual would be irrelevant: the man already knew. He had had liaisons with many men at uni and early on in the Army. Sherlock was always gutted each time John vehemently denied that he had any sexual feelings towards him. Why? Sherlock could feel the sexual tension between them like an electric current. And as time went on, he felt more. He felt the love they each held for the other

He had been ready to finally confront John with his feelings when everything came to a head with Moriarty. When Sherlock made his final call, his “note”, he wanted to tell John. It would be so easy. “Before I go, you need to know that I have always loved you.” The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he did not say them for one reason only: they would be followed by, “Please wait for me.” That sentence would have been unacceptable, because John could not, under any circumstances, believe that Sherlock was still alive. It could get him killed.

So Sherlock had said nothing and painfully watched as John panicked to get to his “body” and check his pulse. He watched his own funeral. He watched John cry over his grave and beg him for one more miracle.

That miracle came too late. Sherlock had selfishly thought that John could never move on in so short a time, that he’d still be at 221b, waiting for him. When Mycroft had told him John had moved on, it was incomprehensible for Sherlock to believe it.

When he entered that restaurant, he saw that John was indeed ready to propose to Mary Morstan, a teacher at a posh primary school in London. He still could not wrap his mind around it, but he managed to do his best to ruin the proposal. Such a display (pretending to be a waiter and baiting John about that horrid moustache) was not necessary, but he did it anyway, to hopefully turn Mary off.

He wanted her to think, “Oh, so the guy you were obsessed with is back. No need for me to stay and be ignored.” Unfortunately, they were too in love to break up over Sherlock, and his plan was ruined. He did not know how John could be so in love with Mary because Sherlock could see he was obviously still in love with him as well. It made no sense at all.

That wedding broke the heart he thought he never had. He loved John so much, to watch him pledge love to another person, to be called his “best friend” over and over again was too much. He only held his peace because John was the most important thing in his life and he wanted to ensure John’s happiness, even if it meant his own misery.

He composed an original song for John’s wedding, performed it perfectly, and made sure to hurry out of that hall, because otherwise he was afraid he would break down right there in public. No one but Molly noticed him leaving, and he hadn’t expected anyone to. Especially not John. John didn’t care if he came or went, and it made Sherlock wish he had really died after jumping off of that rooftop.

He had endured Hell on Earth for the safety of John Watson, he had shot a man to death for John Watson, had been going to kill himself before going into exile because of John Watson, and now he found out that John was still in danger. He had failed at protecting him before, but he would not fail this time.

Sherlock sat at his laptop, gazing longingly at John’s now empty chair, and then started to research Sebastian Moran. It was easy to hack into MI:5 files (even Mary did it), but apparently Mycroft had changed things and Sherlock had absolutely no clue how to get into their files.

“Damn it!” Sherlock cried, banging his fist so hard on the table his hand was bruising. He looked towards his second mobile, wondering how long it would take his usual dealer to get him more drugs? His emotions were clouding his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to numb them for a while.

As he was musing, his laptop chirped. It was a video call from Daniela. He clicked accept and she appeared on his screen.

“Hello, sister. Tell me, is it wise to talk via Internet?” Sherlock asked. “Can’t people hack this a bit too easily?”

She scoffed. “Of course they can, you idiot. I’m not interested in talking about the case. Oh, and I know you just tried accessing MI:5. Until this case is over, I have installed private software onto the site that prevents any hackers who are not using one of three specific IP addresses. Don’t bother.”

Sherlock sighed. “Okay, what did you call to talk about? And why are you calling? You were in my living room just two hours ago.”

“I know. I needed to get back and make some calls to the CIA. Utterly boring, but necessary. In any case, I wanted to talk to you about Dr. Watson,” she said.

“Well, I don’t want to talk about John,” Sherlock said.

Daniela rolled her eyes. “Lock, you act like a twelve-year-old when it comes to emotions. Trust me, I hate the damn things as much as you do. They’re distracting, to say the least. However, we are not machines. Even asexuals have emotions, contrary to popular belief. And you, no matter how much you wish it to be so, are not a sociopath. You have sociopathic tendencies. That is an entirely different ballgame, brother dear.

“When you first told me about John Watson, I knew then you were in love. It pains me, as someone who loves you, to see that you never acted upon your emotions. Meeting him today, I can see clearly that he loves you, too. I don’t know what prevented you from getting together with him before, but please, don’t do this to yourself. You deserve happiness, Sherlock.”

Sherlock felt his heart lurch. Daniela had a terrible way of getting to the dark heart of the matter. “Daniela, stop. Now. We are not talking about this.”

“Why not?” Still the stubborn baby sister.

“Number one, John is married. That’s not right.”

Daniela let out a snort of laughter. “Please. Since when have you ever been concerned with what’s ‘right’? You break the law constantly. And besides, that’s not the point. John loves Mary in a way, yes. But not true, unconditional love. For instance, if he knew that you had died on the table from her gunshot wound, he’d be gone.”

Sherlock gasped involuntarily. Daniela was not supposed to know about that.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Lock. I just wanted you to know that John loves you very much, and you need to do whatever it takes to be with him. It’s what you both want. Sit him down. Talk to him. Anything.”

Sherlock was filled to the brim with emotions. He wasn’t sure if he would rather cry or hit something. When he was backed into a corner by his emotions, he got mean.

“If you’re so keen on talking about  _ feelings _ ,” he sneered, “why don’t we talk about you and Gavin.”

Daniela looked confused. “Who the fuck is Gavin?”

“Lestrade!”

Daniela scoffed again. “His name is Greg, you great fool! And I make no excuses for my feelings towards him. I know he’s old enough to be my father, and I don’t really care. What would you like to discuss?”

“Why haven’t you made a move on him?” Sherlock wondered.

“We were just reintroduced, and he is currently in the sights of a true psychopath. Let danger be averted, and let me deduce that he wants me as well, and then something can happen,” she said. “It is absolutely nothing like your situation with John. Give it six years, and maybe then it will be.”

“There is no need to be smug, little sister,” Sherlock said, warning laced in his tone.

Daniela shrugged. “I have to go to sleep. Damned jetlag. Just think about what I’ve said, okay? And if you need an ear, you can come to me.” She turned off her laptop, leaving Sherlock staring at his screensaver (of course it was a photo of him and John).

He stared at the photo. It had been taken while they were undercover and he just fell in love with it. They looked like a couple. Tears pricked his eyes as he stared and he slammed the laptop shut. Stupid bloody feelings.

 

****

 

Daniela Holmes. Greg found himself consumed with thoughts of the woman he had thought was dead. It had been twelve years since he’d seen her. She was but a child then. Now she was a woman. A tall, lanky, busty, beautiful woman with an irresistible mouth.

When they had been driving home and she had been lip-synching the lyrics to The Clash’s “Lover’s Rock”, he had been tempted to pull his car over and (in accordance to the song’s lyrics) give her something to swallow. Had she noticed his arousal? She had to. She was a Holmes, after all, and they were not only perceptive, but bloody sexy fuckers, too.

Greg couldn’t help but think about his time with the eldest Holmes sibling…

 

****

 

Greg had been leaving work when Mycroft’s car picked him up unexpectedly. Since Sherlock had faked his death, he and Mycroft had become something like friends.  They were like water and oil, but somehow they mixed.

Greg had noticed how sexy Mycroft was. He often had fantasies about taking him to bed and fucking that control right out of him. He had never thought anything would happen between them, but yet again, he was wrong when a Holmes was concerned.

Mycroft was offering to take him to dinner, and he was talking about something, football, Greg thought, and all he could do was watch his lips move and think how much he wanted him. Greg had only had sex with one man before, and that was a rushed affair. He wanted to properly fuck a man--this man--till he couldn’t walk anymore.

Mycroft ordered his driver to pull into a parking garage and take a fifteen minute break.

“What’s that about?” Greg asked, apprehensive.

Mycroft smirked at him. “I have a proposition for you, Gregory. One I think you will rather like.” The eldest Holmes turned towards him and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Greg tasted toothpaste and scotch. “I have seen how you look at me. Let me assure you, your feelings are reciprocated.”

With more grace than a man should have while doing so, Mycroft slid off the seat and went on his knees on the floor of the car and Greg could do nothing but mutely watch as Mycroft unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers.

Greg’s cock was already half-hard by the time Mycroft pulled it out of his pants, and fully hard as the man ran a delicate hand over the velvety flesh. He gazed down at Mycroft, so buttoned up, so posh, on his knees, at Greg’s mercy. _Fuck_. Greg thought he could come right then, with that thought and Mycroft’s delicate touch alone.

Mycroft bent his head and placed an open-mouthed, wet kiss to Greg’s cock, making him thrust his hips just a centimetre. He did it again, before slowly taking the head in his hot mouth and giving it a hard suck.

He slowly took all of Greg’s cock into his mouth and Greg felt his tip brush the back of Mycroft’s throat. Here was the most powerful man in England, with a lowly DI’s cock stuffed down his throat, on his knees and vulnerable.

“Mycroft,” Greg said, his voice a husky whisper. “I’m going to fuck your throat. I’m going to make you swallow all of my come. And them I’m going to turn you over and finger-fuck you till you’ve made a complete mess all over your £100,000 car. Do you understand?”

Mycroft nodded around his cock, and Greg began to thrust in earnest, his fingers tangled in Mycroft’s thin red hair and his hips canting hard into his mouth. Greg lived up to his promise, and made Mycroft swallow every single drop of come before he yanked the government official to sit back in his seat. Greg saw that there was a wet spot on his bespoke suit.

“You act so buttoned-up, but you’re secretly a little whore, aren’t you?” Greg purred, saying it like it was a compliment.

Myc nodded, breathing hard. “Sometimes it’s nice to be able to forget yourself for a little while. This is the best way to do it...unless you take drugs like Sherlock.”

“Why me?” Greg asked.

“Because I’ve wanted to you to shag me for years, ever since you started working with my brother,” he replied.

Greg grinned. He slid down to the floor of the cab and said, “Turn on your belly, arse out. _Now_.”

Mycroft complied and Greg pulled his trousers and pants down to his thighs, revealing a plush, creamy arse just begging to be fucked. Greg regretted coming in his throat now. Oh well. There was always next time.

Greg leaned in and licked Mycroft’s hole, and the man yelped a little before he began wiggling his arse to get even more friction from Greg’s tongue. Greg fucked him open with his tongue, making sure to get his hole good and wet before he pulled back and inserted one finger, then two, and then three, mercilessly fucking Mycroft’s arse, listening to the man beg, plead, and moan. Were Greg younger, he would have been hard again just listening to that.

After Mycroft came, he buttoned himself up and said, “I think this arrangement is going to work out fantastically.”

 

****

 

It had. For two years. They ended it when Sherlock came back, and Greg had not minded. It would have been weird to be sleeping with Mycroft while Sherlock was around.

What concerned him now was that he had been hard ever since Daniela had come sashaying into his office. This attraction was wrong on so many levels. He closed his eyes, picturing her on her knees, sucking him off with those red-painted lips of hers. He wanted to see her unclad, those breasts bouncing against his chest as he rammed his cock up inside of her. He bet she’d be tight, if not a virgin.

His breathing quickened as he began to stroke himself, picturing her underneath him, as he held her down (at her request) and drilled her into the mattress. He came wildly, like he hadn’t in over a year.

“I’m not bisexual, Sherlock was wrong. Apparently, I’m Holmessexual.”

 

****

 

Daniela produced a quick bio on Sebastian Moran based on the information hers and Mycroft’s agencies had managed to procure.

He was twenty years older than Moriarty, born in New York and raised in Virginia. He was one of the best snipers the CIA had ever had. He never missed a kill. He seemed normal for most of his life, even getting married and having a child. Psychologists said that his wife dying of cancer was the reason he defected, but no one was certain.

He took his then teen daughter to England, where she became classmates with James Moriarty. It was a disastrous friendship, and doctors thought that it was Sebastian’s influence that brought Moriarty over the edge to madness. Daniela knew that Moriarty had already been insane. He had already murdered Carl Powers by then.

Sebastian was found dead in a public pool, having been dosed with a huge amount of a sedative and then shot...by a sniper. Presumably, his own daughter had helped Moriarty kill him. They did not know why.

“Amanda Moran,” Daniela said, looking at the woman’s photo. She had short dark hair, light eyes, and a wide smile. She looked like a nanny, not a murderer. “What happened to make you the way you are?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Much more angst and smut to come in the future.
> 
> This is Sherlock's laptop wallpaper, by the way: https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiZmtjtxbXKAhUBw2MKHRjcBvkQjRwIBw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fimgbuddy.com%2Fjohnlock-feels.asp&psig=AFQjCNFFvum0A28Whs1LNiXFiuIcS_hSTA&ust=1453281562501085

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is starting out a bit slow, but I promise exciting updates coming soon! As always, I welcome your opinions/compliments! <3


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